


crowned

by the_ragnarok



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Hair Braiding, Hair Kink, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), coming in hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24292969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: A bit of unintentional Knowing tells Jon about one of Martin's fantasies.
Relationships: Jon Sims/Martin Blackwood
Comments: 23
Kudos: 493





	crowned

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to smallhorizons for beta, and to the rest of the discord server for handholding and cheerleading!

There _are_ a handful of birthday candles in the top right cabinet. Jon feels rightly smug when he catches Martin's perplexed expression.

"Honestly," Martin says, shaking his head as Jon climbs down from the kitchen chair. The candles are purple, pink and white; the package has cartoon ponies on it. "What on Earth? How did you even know that was there?"

That dampens Jon's mood somewhat. "I just did." He sighs.

"Oh."

"Yes, _oh_." He crosses his arms. "The same way I know," he grabs for a handful of facts at random, "that Daisy's middle name is Deirdre, and you want to come in my hair, and the guy in the village who—" He takes in Martin's sudden pallor and rewinds what he just said. "Oh. Right. Sorry about that."

"You knew?" Martin squeaks.

Jon twitches with guilt. "I just Knew it now, sorry. I didn't mean to, can we just pretend I didn't say anything?"

Martin lets out a breath. His laughter is a little forced, but the affection in his touch is genuine when his hand lands on Jon's shoulder. "How about we do," he says. "Are we making a cake, then? I heard some rumor it's possible to turn flour, eggs, sugar and milk into something edible."

"Edible? I think I'm wounded." Jon rolls back his sleeves. "Now, let's get baking."

* * *

They only put one candle in the cake. There are only five candles, and one seems less pathetic than five when the person whose birthday you're celebrating is thirty-two. Jon lights the candle with an electric lighter that Daisy's hidden in one of the drawers. "Are you going to blow it out? Make a wish?"

Martin flushes. "Will you make fun if I do?"

"I already risked life and limb to find birthday candles for you. I'm not going to mock you for using them."

Martin's eyes half-shut, his expression going pensive. He's oddly pretty like this, the light from the candle casting shadows on his face, glinting copper in his eyelashes. After a moment of concentration, he blows the candle out.

"Happy birthday," Jon says, and kisses him softly. Martin comes out of the kiss looking happy and dazed, the way he usually does. It feeds something in Jon, to see him like this. "I'm sorry I didn't get you anything."

Martin blinks at him. "Says the man of my dreams as he kisses me. Trust me, I have basically everything I want right now."

An ill-timed thought strikes Jon. "Maybe not _everything_."

For a moment Martin looks at him uncomprehending. Then understanding dawns, and with it a betrayed look. "I thought we said we were going to forget about that!"

True, they did. And yet, "If we forget about it, how can I suggest we do it?" Jon says reasonably.

Martin opens his mouth. No sound comes out. He shuts it. He points a shaking finger at Jon.

Jon shrugs, and undoes his braid, letting his hair loose down his shoulders.

Martin makes a strangled noise, hissing, "That is not fair!"

Again, Jon shrugs. "You don't have to do anything." He tries looking at Martin through his eyelashes, though he suspects he looks very silly. "Although, if you wanted, I wouldn't mind a hand braiding it again."

Martin collapses against the sofa. "Enough. I'm dead. You've killed me." He opens his arms. "Come here?"

Jon delicately settles himself in Martin's broad, comfortable lap. Martin's arms fit just right around him, and they kiss leisurely. It takes no time for Martin to tangle his hands in Jon's hair. This is usually the case. Jon can't believe it took supernatural interference for him to realize Martin has a thing for his hair.

Well, now he knows, and he can make good use of it.

"I was thinking," he says, withdrawing from a deep, sweet kiss, "I could kneel on the floor—"

"Jesus," Martin groans. "Mercy. Please."

Jon frowns at him. "It's practical."

"It's fucking hot!"

"Well. That is the intention." Jon permits himself a pleased little smirk. "And I could unbutton your jeans for you—"

"Jon. Seriously. If you keep talking like this, I'm going to make a mess of my pants. Just... do what you want, right now I'll probably find it hot if you set me on fire."

"Fire is generally hot, this is correct," Jon says, but he goes down to his knees in front of Martin. His jeans are well-worn, the button easily coming undone. The zipper sticks for a moment, but when Jon frowns at it, it comes loose in a silken hiss. Perhaps he needs to add zipper intimidation to his list of Beholding-given powers. 

He pulls Martin's cock out of his boxers. Jon's main opinion on genitals is that they look silly, but he likes Martin's. Pink, a nice size to hold, soft skin. Jon kisses it just below the head. He gathers his hair in a loose fist and spreads it over Martin's lap.

Martin whimpers. "Jon, Jon, oh God, Jon. I'm gonna. I can't. Jon!" The name transforms into a long, low groan as Martin takes his cock in hand, wrapped in strands of Jon's hair. He has to look away, then, or have his hair pulled on unpleasantly.

Even looking away, it’s impossible not to notice how excited Martin is. He’s all but vibrating. Jon can feel his pulse everywhere they touch, strong and rapid. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Martin whispers. “So lovely I can’t take it. And you let me, you let me….”

It doesn't take Martin long to come, which he does gasping and furiously thanking Jon. He leans his head on Martin's thigh and reaches up. "Give me your hand." Martin obeys, putting his clean palm over Jon's; Jon takes it and presses a kiss to the knuckles. 

Then he grimaces, because while he's glad to have done this, he does not like having a mess in his hair. 

Martin notices. "Shall I wash your hair for you?" He runs a finger down Jon's cheek.

"You don't have to," Jon says. It is his birthday, after all. Jon wants this to be a gift without strings attached. 

Martin scoffs. "Oh, so your superpowers didn't tell you that part?" Jon blinks up at him. "You know, how after I do... that... I get to wash your hair and braid it and kiss your head?"

"They did not," Jon says weakly. "That was... really?"

"That's half the point," Martin says, sheepishly. "That you let me mess you up, and then put you back to rights— alright, and I'm slightly enamored with your hair, alright? I like playing with it."

That makes two of them. Minutes later, Jon's sitting in a kitchen chair with his back to the sink, head leant back and eyes shut as Martin sluices warm water over his hair. 

"I love how relaxed you get," Martin murmurs, wetting his hair thoroughly. "How you trust me, that you let me do this."

Jon would probably say something along the lines of _Yes, getting a scalp massage, what a hardship,_ but Martin has started working shampoo into his hair and words are lost to him. He emits a tiny groan instead.

Martin falls silent, then, only intermittently humming some tune Jon doesn't recognize as he lathers Jon's hair, rinses it and applies more shampoo. "There we go," he finally croons, "nice and clean." He washes it again. "Time to put some conditioner in." The conditioner is cold, and Jon grumbles a little at this unpleasant interruption, but it warms soon enough.

All too soon, Martin washes the last of the conditioner off and wraps a towel around Jon's hair to soak up the excess water. He helps Jon up — Jon's knees have turned to rubber in the meanwhile — and leads him to the sofa, where they both sit, Jon's back to Martin's chest. Martin brushes Jon's hair, drawing shivers from him.

"I really am grateful for the help," Jon says. "It's gotten so long, it takes ages to finish combing and braiding."

"Are you kidding me? Look a bit to the left." Martin turns Jon's head slightly. "What part of _this is my secret dark fantasy_ aren't you getting?"

Jon snorts. "Some dark fantasy." He melts into Martin's sure hands, familiar by now with the specifics of Jon's hair. "This seems very mutually beneficial."

"We could call it that, yeah." Martin parts his hair into sections and begins to braid it. For himself, Jon usually does the simplest style possible, maybe a French braid if he's feeling fancy. Martin likes to take his time, though, and come up with styles like crown braids. Jon suspects if he lets Martin have free reign, he may find ribbons in there some day.

He's not sure he'd mind. "What are you doing this time?"

"Just a fishtail," Martin says, distracted. "I figure you'll probably have enough of me messing with your hair any minute now."

That's a gross untruth, and Jon would say so if the delicious tugs of Martin's fingers weren't robbing him of speech. He settles for closing his eyes and letting out a, "Mm."

Finally, Martin lets go, not before placing a kiss on the crown of Jon's head. "Ready for bed?"

Jon, who's had trouble sleeping ever since he can remember, feels luxuriously drowsy. As though sleep would be as easy to sink into as Martin's lap. "Suppose I am." He sluggishly gets to his feet and follows Martin to bed. They share a few kisses before Jon crowds close to him and orders, "Sleep now."

"Your wish," Martin murmurs, and kisses him on the temple. "Goodnight, sweetheart. Thank you for this."

Jon falls asleep before he can start up arguing about who enjoyed tonight the most, and that's probably just as well.


End file.
